the net we call life's dreams
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Life was a complex mesh of threads that somehow managed so many combinations at once, it seemed like nothing was unbelieveable in it.
1. 1

**A/N:** Written for the Snakes and Ladders in Wonderland Challenge. The square I landed on this time was "poetry novel".

* * *

**the net we call life's dreams  
/1/**

Life was, in the end, but a dream:  
a complex mix of threads that could be  
tied together, and then undone  
and rewoven into new patterns, new cords  
and the net that slowly formed under them  
was a mix of all of those possibilities

And in that realm there was no such thing  
as the impossible.  
The dead were not necessarily dead  
and gone; the living weren't always  
what they seemed.

Many a thing walked upon those snow-covered  
roads: during the day, and at night –  
a path carved by many memories  
both made and most:

The feelings of the heart  
searching for the truth  
of that dream.


	2. 2

**the net we call life's dreams  
/2/**

Maybe it was fate pushing him that way,  
trying to bring the frayed ends of strings  
back together – those memories that remained  
locked away

But the truth was he didn't want to remember,  
or so he said, what had happened there before,  
hidden in the darkness tied by all those threads

Because there must be a reason those threads frayed,  
tried to break, why he'd never wanted to go back…  
except now there was no choice,  
and whatever truth slumbered beneath those threads:  
that part of his life,  
he would come across it again, wandering  
through snow-filled streets laced with yellow lamps  
and the footprints left behind by snow boots  
and a lost, searching soul he found his paths crossing with  
time and time again…

But, before that, there was another girl  
who finds him, dusted heavily  
with falling snow.


	3. 3

**the net we call life's dreams  
/3/**

He waited on the bench for her: the guide  
who would take him away from that uncomfortable feeling  
and both familiarity and unfamiliarity in one

Because that was just where she stood now  
that this wall of lost memories and passed time  
had come between  
whatever closer relationship they'd shared  
in the past before those times  
had been swept away under confusion  
and tangled threads leaving behind the confusing mix  
called his current life

But he could already feel those threads  
beginning to unfurl, and part of him was fine to wait  
for the snow to bury it all

But suddenly she was there, sweeping the dust of snow  
from his head with a strong, glowing hand  
and the dormant threads were sparking like live-wires again:  
alive once more, untangling and retying, searching,  
for their other parts.


	4. 4

**the net we call life's dreams  
/4/**

The home was vaguely familiar, just as it should have been  
for the long absence he'd had had  
from it. The things he'd brought with him seemed more familiar  
since they were his: the things that had filled his memories  
since that tangled mess of strings had been left behind

And it was a smooth stretch of strings, after that knot  
that faded further and further into the past  
as the future unfolded

But there was a vague familiarity in one box in particular,  
one item: a headband he didn't know why  
he would have seen before, let alone owned

And it wasn't his cousin's either, dropped  
in her excitement to bundle about

So where had it come from, he wondered?  
Why had he brought it to this memory-forsaken town  
that lay covered under snow and tangled knots?  
Why was he even setting it down  
near his head, to ponder on those questions  
while he slept?


	5. 5

**the net we call life's dreams  
/5/**

He slept that night tangled in the knots of that time  
he'd hidden from his mind: tossed into slivers  
barely reformed, the scraped of all those frayed ends  
he'd cast to the wind long ago…

But somehow they'd reached out to the stars  
and become cold and lonely and wet  
like a little cat cast out with only a newspaper page  
to support her.  
And then those little wisps of life and memories  
that had been cleaved away by forgetfulness  
and time… Those memories he'd buried away,  
trying to form and make themselves known  
once again…

But did he really want to remember? Could he even  
when he still didn't know why he'd forgotten  
or what reluctance stirred in him when he thought  
about whether or not to remember  
or whether he even wanted  
to remember…

But those memories had started to stir restlessly  
either way, in the shapes of dreams.


	6. 6

**the net we call life's dreams  
/6/**

He awoke the next morning dazed and confused  
and un-remembering: the trinket tugging at the frayed end  
of those memory strings was still there, but it offered no more  
answers than before: that previous night of bewilderment  
and initial surprise, when that shining red thing had parted  
from grey and brown…

But it was quickly swept away from his mind  
as the day went on: a cold, uncomfortable day  
that nonetheless planted tendrils of warmth  
within: like waiting for his cousin in the snow  
like he'd do in the past, and the echoes of memories  
that came with, and that girl knocking him off his feet  
and into the cold, a dot of warmth  
on his chest –

But then the girl is taking him by hand and fleeing  
and he runs along with her, swept off his feet and bearings  
but somehow thinking it's not so unusual after all  
and that, maybe, he doesn't mind it much either.


	7. 7

**the net we call life's dreams  
/7/**

He thinks about her a lot, even after  
that fleeting meeting of theirs is done, because  
he can't brush off that feeling: that familiarity,  
nor that aching pang in his chest, that claims  
he knows that girl from somewhere –

But his memory of that time is still scraps  
of frayed thread drifting down in the snow,  
and there is too much useless snow: empty crystals  
of ice that hold no secrets or answers with them inside,  
just the cold…

But there are those precious few that do have something more:  
a whisper of a memory long torn to pieces and gone  
but thread was good that way: it broke into pieces but still existed,  
fine, fine threads that could come together a different way,  
weaker…or perhaps stronger, than before.

He knows of her from before, he is sure  
and he'll find that answer eventually, through more meetings  
despite how unlikely that is, or through dreams  
of returning memories…  
but now the sleeping fox has been awakened  
and he cannot pretend he doesn't want to know  
anymore.


	8. 8

**the net we call life's dreams  
/8/**

The next night he dreams a little more, then a little more again  
and slowly the dream starts to grow,  
though no more sensible, no more memorable –  
they are still dreams to him, filled with confusion  
and as slippery as the water that comes  
from melting snow

And though he gets used to the cold and the dreams  
as so long ago the aching hole in his heart  
and memories  
he wonders: why were all those things as they were?  
What had he forgotten? Why had he wanted  
so desperately to forget?

How could he even _be_ so desperate…  
but then time went on, and he saw other people, learnt of them  
and through that he began to understand  
that desperation: the sort of thing that could kill  
or bring back to life, or make a sweet little girl  
pick up a knife or blade for more than sport…

It looked like such an innocent world from the outside,  
peaceful, innocent for kids like them –  
but already they'd seen things  
they'd rather forget

And maybe he really did forget.


	9. 9

**the net we call life's dreams  
/9/**

He met a girl not much younger than he  
who was dying, under a tree  
and showered in snow more thick  
than he, who so hated snow,  
had ever been.

She was not much younger than him  
at all, and all she said that day was that  
she was sick: a simple flu  
that would go away with time  
or, if nothing else, when the snow  
and winter fled, and spring came…

But the pieces began to form,  
and the puzzle became clearer  
day by day: that little shadow under  
the trees in the school, looking up  
at their classroom like the gaze  
of someone who might never see more  
again…

And how another, who seemed so tightly linked  
claimed not, claimed there was nothing there  
at all, even if the bonds were far stronger  
than these frayed threads that he carried  
along with him –

But eventually it all came together: people confessed,  
tales were told and some peace, buried under all those knots  
was freed, and found

And in the end there was a miracle to be had: she didn't die  
and they could live on, together, like they'd always dreamed  
and dreaded wouldn't pass

And if that other girl had continued running away  
that opportunity would have been gone: she'd have regretted it  
forever, or perhaps she would just have forgot  
like she lied

But maybe he had done something like that:  
forgetting a reality that hadn't yet come to pass  
but he still couldn't face.

Or maybe the tragedy had already occurred…  
At that time, he still remembered far too little to know.


	10. 10

**the net we call life's dreams  
/10/**

He met a little fox long ago, though it took him a long time  
to remember the echo of that fuzzy little form  
in his arms. And maybe that's why the girl who rushes at him  
on the streets was so mad – even though she couldn't remember  
anything else at all she remembered him, being mad…

It took him a long time to piece it together, and he might never have  
if it hadn't been for that mysterious girl who'd appeared  
and talked about those fox tales…

But now it made so much sense, and too soon: she began to fall  
and he had to watch her day by day, growing weaker,  
unable to help, unable to do anything but stay…

Except that's not true; there was more he could do,  
and in the end he understood, and followed her small gesture  
and his heart: to take her back to the hill he'd found her at  
before, where she could return to her original being

And even though he didn't want her to go he knew she had to  
otherwise she would have just dwindled further, suffered more –  
and he didn't want her to suffer, not at all,  
despite how he'd seen her as a pest that first time on the streets  
when she fell.


	11. 11

**the net we call life's dreams  
/11/**

He also met another girl, who stood in the darkness of the school at night  
with a sword. She said her task was to drive away the monsters that came  
but it always seemed to bounce back  
to her

And it took him a long time to see that as well, see that those monsters  
were not appearing out of nowhere, but from her,  
and that all of them were because of her loneliness, her fear  
despite those who struggled to stand  
by her side

But there were people who stood by her side  
and that was what counted, what saved her,  
what made her put down her sword  
and smile…

And maybe those two could have done all that  
without meeting him: he felt himself a witness  
who snuck out late at night to see her in the dark in school  
with a sweet little something as a snack  
and nothing more.


	12. 12

**the net we call life's dreams  
/12/**

In the end, he'd met a lot of girls  
but there was one very close  
he'd ignored, and he only realised that  
when his memories returned, when those complex knots  
had untangled themselves and the frayed ends  
had found their mates once more…

And he regretted that, but it was a hole  
he couldn't fix, not now  
after he'd pushed her away so hard –

And honestly, the little matter of her feelings for him  
made things all the more complicated result.  
He wanted to just leave it behind again,  
run away, after those memories came back  
and the ghost that had been searching with snow boots  
in the snow, had faded without another trace…

He thought, maybe, that he could let go of all those strings  
again, now that they weren't tangled up…

But there was a knot still there, now buried under the untied  
and when it comes to light it's quickly unravelled  
and the whole picture, that past he'd run away from  
was restored.


End file.
